


Ready to Lose

by bashert



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I'm sorry I did this, Minor Violence, Post Season 2, if that helps
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-17 13:16:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2310959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bashert/pseuds/bashert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>She wasn't unaware of how she must have seemed when they all came tumbling into the waiting room to find her seated in a chair alone, Will having been rushed off to surgery, her hands trembling and her clothes stained with blood, but she's not going to crumble.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When you coming home?

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I have no excuses. I meant to write another chapter of one of my other WIP's, but somewhere along the way this happened instead. I even had promised myself no more multi-chapters end stories! I never listen.
> 
> The title comes from Ingrid Michaelson.

To be honest, Will had never worried about the threats against _him_.

Even when Charlie trotted Lonny out for a second time in the wake of Genoa and told him that there were several credible threats and that Lonny would be with him for the foreseeable future.

It was MacKenzie that Will worried about.

That Mac, by virtue of being constantly by his side, would be caught in the crossfire. Or worse, that some nutjob would target _her_ to get to him.

That was what kept him up at night.

It drove Mac crazy that he shrugged off the warnings, waved off the protection, didn't take it seriously.

"I'm not worried about me. I worry about you," he told her repeatedly, and she would huff in exasperation.

"Yeah, well, I worry about _you_ ," she shot back. " _You're_ the visible one. You're the one that gets the threats sent _directly to him._ " Will made a noise of indifference and Mac had stormed out of the living room, and Will had sighed and gone after her to apologize and promise that he would take it more seriously.

And he had. He really had. He had listened to Lonny, he had followed precautions, he had done everything _correctly_.

It was bullshit, actually, he mused, that he was here, bleeding to death on the concrete outside AWM as MacKenzie hovered above him, her face panicked. It was the Universe's way of fucking with him. The Universe loved to fuck with him.

"You're going to be fine, Will, you're going to be fine," Mac kept repeating, whether to reassure herself or him, he didn't know. He tried to open his mouth to tell her all the things that he needed to tell her if this was really the end (and fuck _that_ , because his life was finally getting good. He had married the love of his life, work had settled down after the Genoa shitstorm, and it was just categorically unfair that this should happen _now_ ), but his tongue felt too big for his mouth and his words came out slurred and incoherent.

"Mac, love," he started to say, but she shushed him, bringing her face down and pressing small kisses to his cheek.

"I know, Will, hang in there, okay? You've got to fucking hang in there," her voice broke. She brushed back the hair off of his face, and her hand trembled. "Don't leave me. Please, Will."

He doesn't want to. He doesn't want to leave her. But he hurt, and was so tired.

"Mac," he tried again, and she tipped forward, placing a kiss on his forehead before moving away so the paramedics could get to him. His hand darted out to find hers again, but she was already been pushed back, away from him.

"Mac," he slurred.

"I'm right here, Will," she called out. "I'm not going anywhere." He forced his eyes to stay open, but God, did he hurt.

Mac's hand was in his again. Will glanced back up at her, and she gave him a tremulous smile.

"I'm right here," she repeated, her voice firm.

And he allowed himself to close his eyes.

* * *

The waiting was driving MacKenzie up a wall.

Generally, she was very good at waiting. Patience had always been one of her strong suits. She was more than capable of waiting.

But not now. Not here. Not sitting in an uncomfortable waiting room chair, flanked by Sloan on one side and Jim on the other (the two of them have appointed themselves as her caretakers, both sending sideways looks her way as if she's liable to fall apart at any moment. She wasn't unaware of how she must have seemed when they all came tumbling into the waiting room to find her seated in a chair alone, Will having been rushed off to surgery, her hands trembling and her clothes stained with blood, but she's not going to crumble).

Charlie was pacing in front of them, a phone up to his ear and his mouth set in a grim line.

He had been the first one to reach MacKenzie after Will had been shot, rushing forward as the paramedics swarmed in, pulling her rigid body into his arms.

"Our boy's a fighter," was what Charlie had said softly into her ear, and she bit back a sob, nodding, before slipping out of his arms to insist that she go along in the ambulance with her husband.

"We'll meet you there," Charlie called out as she climbed in next to Will, sitting exactly where she was told to sit, keeping out the way, but never moving her hand from Will's limp grip.

They had hustled him away almost immediately, the doors swinging shut and blocking her from going any farther. They promised to come find her, and pushed a few forms her way to get her signature as Will's next of kin.

After Charlie hung up, he stepped towards Mac and frowned.

"Why don't we send someone to your apartment to get a change of clothes?" He asked gently. Mac blinked up at him.

"What?"

"You're covered in blood, sweetie," Sloan chimed in, gently.

"I can go," Maggie had been standing across from them, her arms wrapped tightly around her middle. "Just tell me what you need me to get. I'll go." In a softer voice, she added, "I'd like to feel useful." That, Mac could understand. Part of her thought going home, showering and changing, would give her something to focus on other than the agony of not knowing what was happening with Will, but she knew that it would be worse to be away from this waiting room. She wasn't moving until someone told her what the fuck was happening.

But she could list the things she needed, and where Maggie could find them. She could give Maggie something to do.

Jim offered to go with Maggie, and as soon as they were out the door, Charlie dropped into the seat that Jim had just vacated, reaching for her hand and giving it a squeeze.

"Hang in there, kiddo," he said softly.

Mac could. She was good at waiting.

She just needed Will to hang in there, too.


	2. It's quiet in the night

 There had been talk of adding more security in the wake of Genoa. It had started with an off handed comment by Neal, asking if anyone was afraid of Jerry Dantana and a grudge.

"Well, fuck," Will had said. " _Now_ I am."

Leona had hired more security guards, upgraded the security system, and Will was still being trailed by Lonny.

He was, he figured, about as safe as he could theoretically be. Mac was still concerned. She told him as much over and over again, her lovely mouth turning down, but he had kissed her frowning lips, telling her not to worry so much.

"You're taking this Director of Morale gig a little too seriously," she accused, but the corners of her mouth were tugging up into a smile, and he pulled her to him and she tucked herself into his side.

"I'm quite good at it," he boasted, and she rolled her eyes a little.

Will had taken her worries into account. He listened, he really did. He let Lonny know when he was going places, and let him lead the way. (And Will, in turn, made sure to walk out in front of MacKenzie. Because _he_ might have told her not to worry, but the same didn't necessarily apply to him. Besides, he had protection. She didn't. It was a little thing, Will going first, but it made him feel better.)

Will had been two steps behind Lonny, glancing back at Mac who was typing away on her Blackberry.

"What are you doing back there? Sending me dirty emails?" He waggled his eyebrows at her and she snorted."Do me a favor? Don't accidentally email the whole company," Will warned, and Mac scoffed.

"That was _one_ time," she shot back.

He was laughing as he turned back around, still laughing when he felt a sting, and then he heard MacKenzie gasp as he fell to his knees, his hand flying to his chest.

The first thought that registered was  _MacKenzie_. (Followed quickly by, _fuck, that hurts._ Because holy shit did it _hurt_. But it hurt less than seeing the panicked look on Mac’s face did as she scrambled towards him, and he wanted to tell her it wasn’t safe, that she needed to get back inside, get back where he could be sure she was safe, but he couldn’t get his mouth to move.)

"Billy!" Mac shouted, dropping to her own knees. Will could hear shouting, but it sounded distant, muffled. The only thing he could hear clearly register was Mac's cool hands framing his face, the soft feel of her lips as she pressed a kiss to his forehead, and then his cheeks, as she pleaded with him to stay awake, stay with her.

And then Jim. Jim was there suddenly, behind Mac, barking orders. _Good_ , Will thought. _Jim is here_. Jim would take care of Mac in case...well, fuck, in case he didn't make it. Jim would keep her steady. Jim wouldn't let her fall apart. Jim would hold all her pieces together.

Mac looked so scared, and he wanted to reassure her, but he couldn't make his arms move. He tasted tin in his mouth and he could tell by the look on Jim's face that it was bad.

Well, fuck.

* * *

Maggie came back with a bag that she pressed into Mac's arms.

"Here," she said, and Mac startled slightly. She had been staring at the same stain on the wall since Maggie and Jim had left.

She wasn’t sure how long they had been gone, but she was sure she hadn’t moved at all during that time, her hand still limp and clammy in Charlie’s.

"Thanks, Maggie," she replied, and she stood on shaky legs, clutching the bag to her chest. "You'll come find me?" She said this to Charlie, who gave her a gentle smile.

"They said it might be hours," he started, and he wasn’t patronizing (Charlie was almost never patronizing), but his voice softened in a way that reminded MacKenzie of her father.

"I know, but just in case," Mac insisted.

"I'll come find you. Immediately. Go change, you'll feel better once you've changed," Charlie encouraged.

Sloan wrapped a steadying arm around Mac and lead her towards the nearest bathroom. Mac appreciated that Sloan didn't try to ply her with meaningless platitudes. Didn't try to insist that everything would be okay. She just kept her hand on MacKenzie's back, warm and reassuring, and helped her change out of her clothes, tacky and stiff from Will's blood.

"Jackie Kennedy refused to change out of the suit she was wearing when her husband was shot," Mac's voice trembled, as Sloan took a wet cloth to wipe the smears of blood off of Mac's face. "She said she wanted them to see what they had done to him."

Sloan didn't respond right away, but then finally took Mac's face in her hands and leaned in and pressed a kiss to Mac's forehead.

"All clean," Sloan said, her voice cracking. "Come on, sweetie, let's go join the others."

* * *

 

It was bad, Jim knew that it was bad.

He didn't have the heart to push MacKenzie out of the way, not with the way her body was trembling, and Will's gaze never left her face, so he worked around her, prying first her hands, and then Will’s from his side so that Jim could see exactly where Will had been hit.

It had hit him in the chest. _Goddamn_ it.

"Help is on the way,” that was Charlie, and Jim wasn’t sure if he was talking to him or Mac, but it didn’t matter really, because MacKenzie was barely listening. She was whispering something to Will, her head bent down towards his.

Jim doesn't have to tell Charlie that it's bad. Charlie has seen enough shit to know that it's bad. He meets Jim's gaze over Mac's head and frowns slightly.

"Hang in there, Will,” Jim muttered, and he was saved from trying to remember any more of his field training by the paramedics rushing over. Mac was shuffled away from Will’s side, and Jim reached out and gently tugged her towards him, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. Her body was tense and rigid under his hand, and she broke away as they started to move Will towards the ambulance, insisting that she go with them.

“We’ll meet you at the hospital,” Charlie called out, but if Mac heard she didn’t acknowledge. As soon as the ambulance doors slammed shut, Jim doubled over his hands going to his knees.

"Jesus," he breathed. Did he do enough? Was it enough to save Will? Jim didn't want to imagine Mac without Will, he had been through it once and once was more than enough. And that had been different; Will was still alive, still walking around the earth. He was cut off from Mac emotionally and physically, but there was _hope_. There was always the chance that she would see him again, work it out (and they _had_. And Jim had never seen Mac so content. Never. And he didn't want her to go back to the Mac before they came back to ACN. He didn't want that for her. He wanted her to be this blissfully happy. If anyone deserved it, Mac did.)

"Come on, son," Charlie clapped a hand to Jim's back and he straightened. "Let's get to the hospital. I think Mac's going to need you there."

There was so much left unspoken in that sentence, and Jim pushed it out of his head.

Will would be okay.

He had to be.


	3. That makes my mind make noises

Sloan was worried about MacKenzie.

_Everyone_ was worried about Will. Sloan was more perceptive than most people gave her credit for, and she could tell that both Charlie and Jim were thinking the absolutely worst. And Sloan was worried about Will, _of course she was_ , she was so worried that she couldn’t think straight, so she had no idea how Mac was still functioning, which was exactly why she had taken it upon herself to be worried about Mac.

Mac was now clean of Will’s blood, with her head tipped back and her eyes closed. She hadn’t moved since they had come back from the bathroom, Mac dropping heavily into the chair, turning to Charlie to ask,

“Anything?” And he shook his head, and Mac let out a ragged sigh and that had been that.

Sloan had no idea how they were supposed to get through this, especially if Will didn’t make it. But she decided that Will was going to be fine, because he _had_ to be, because she could not entertain any other option. So if Will was going to be fine, and he _was_ , she needed to focus on Mac.

"Can I get you anything?" Sloan asked, placing a hand gently on Mac's leg. Mac startled, her eyes flying open.

"Oh, no, no thank you," Mac shook her head.

"Maybe a coffee? Something small to eat? You must be hungry?"

"I'm not," Mac answered. "Really, Sloan, I don't need anything. Thank you."

“I think you should eat something,” Sloan started.

“Sloan, _I don’t need anything_ ,” Mac snapped. “I’m _fine_. Okay? I’m fine.”

She was so clearly not fucking fine, but Sloan clamped her mouth shut. There was a moment of silence before Mac let out a long sigh.

“I’m sorry,” Mac said in a quiet voice. “I know you’re just trying to help...I’m sorry. I could use a coffee. Coffee would be great.”

“I can do coffee,” Sloan said quickly, jumping to her feet. “I’ll be right back.” Sloan understood why Maggie so quickly volunteered to go back to Will and Mac’s apartment to get clothes for Mac. It felt good to be _useful_ in some way; doing something was better than sitting in those hard chairs doing nothing but worry. When Sloan thought about what would happen if Will died, she felt an overwhelming urge to throw up.

So she refused to think about it.

Will wouldn’t die. He couldn’t. The idea of MacKenzie without Will McAvoy was unbearable. The idea of the goddamn _world_ without Will even more so. It couldn't happen.

It couldn't.

* * *

“Something’s happening,” Don came tearing into Sloan’s office.

Will and Mac had just left, stopping by to say goodbye before Will slung an arm around Mac’s shoulder and lead her out. Sloan was filling in for Elliott that night; he was on vacation with his wife and kid so she had been in his seat all week with Don in her ear, and on more than one occasion she had wondered how Mac and Will managed to balance work and their relationship (although she knew for those two bickering was foreplay).

"It's Will, I think, something's happening out front," Don said and Sloan was out of her seat so fast it nearly toppled over. She had a thousand questions on her tongue, and Don seemed to anticipate it, because he grabbed her hand and said, "I don't know anything," before she could ask. He jammed the elevator button and in the long moments before it came, Maggie and Neal came running up.

"Do you know anything?" Don asked. "All I heard was that we needed to get outside."

Maggie swallowed hard and nodded, "Jim called and said Will was shot," and Sloan felt the shock as if she had been electrocuted, her whole body buzzing.

"He was _shot_?" Saying the words made her feel unbalanced, made her legs tremble. _No. No. No._

"Shot where?" Don asked at the same time. Maggie shrugged helplessly. Sloan was suddenly struck with a horrible thought.

"Mac? Was Mac hurt?" Mac had been tucked into his side as they left. If Will had been shot (and _oh God_ , it was finally sinking in. Will had been shot. _Will_ ), then Mac would have been standing beside him.

"No, no," Maggie shook her head. "Jim just said she's in shock. But she's not hurt. Just...just Will." They stepped into the elevator, and Sloan leaned up against Don.

_This isn't real_ , she tried to tell herself. _This isn't happening. Will is fine. It's a cruel prank._

She almost believed it. Until the doors slid open to the chaos in the lobby. Police were holding back the crowds that had already started to gather.

_Vultures_ , she thought bitterly.

Jim stood, his arms wrapped around himself, and Sloan's stomach sank.

It was bad. She knew it. It was really fucking bad.

* * *

Mac wasn't sure how much time had passed.

The doctors had said it would take hours. The bullet had caused his lung to collapse, and had been close to his heart. They weren't sure how much damage had been done, and wouldn't until they got in there to fix it. Mac had only half been listening.

His heart. Fuck. _Close to his heart._ The words pounded in her head. _Mrs. McAvoy, we're doing everything we can._

The coffee Sloan had gotten for her had gone cold in her hands ages ago. She had taken a couple of sips under Sloan's watchful eye, but it had turned her stomach. Charlie's coat had, at some point, ended up on her shoulders, and Sloan's hand was on her knee.

She knew they were all watching her, waiting for her to fall apart, but at the moment she was too numb, too unfeeling to properly fall apart. It felt like this was happening to someone else. It wasn't _her_ husband in surgery after some maniac tried to kill him (She had no idea who it was that had shot Will. She would worry about it later. Later, after Will was out of surgery and well onto his way to recovery. _Then_ she would think about it. Think about who hated her husband enough to want him dead. And Jesus, someone hated _Will_ enough to want him dead. Lonny was there, waiting with them. He had shown up an hour or so after they had taken Will into surgery. He hadn't said much since he arrived, other than to ask if there was any news and to tell Mac in a broken voice how sorry he was. She didn’t blame him, although she knew that he blamed himself. It hadn’t been his fault. It hadn’t been Will’s fault. It was some lunatic. Some lunatic who hated Will enough to want him dead. _Jesus_ ), it wasn't her who was facing the awful possibility of living without Will. That was someone else. That was happening to someone else.

The whole thing was surreal. Jim and Maggie were slumped together on the chairs opposite of her, and Don was pacing a hole in the floor in the corner of the waiting room. Various members of their staff were scattered in chairs, taking turns asking Mac if she needed anything.

"No, I'm fine, thank you," she said each time.

So she wasn't sure how long they had been sitting here, in limbo, waiting to see if she was going to be a widow before she hit forty. She knew it had been a while, knew every minute was excruciating, but it could have been an hour or three hours. It didn’t matter. She would sit there as long as she needed to. As long as it took for someone to come out and tell her that Will would be fine.

“I’m going to get more coffee. You need anything?” Sloan asked.

“No, I’m fine, thank you,” Mac replied automatically. Sloan frowned, but this time didn’t push. Jim slid out from where he and Maggie were tangled together and sat down next to Mac.

“Hey,” Jim’s voice was gentle. “Remember the night that Ryan was shot? I think we were in Peshawar?” She did. She remembered how cold the night air was, how she trembled as she tried to stem the bleeding of the young Marine who was always unfailing polite. How there was so much blood everywhere, how she wiped at her cheeks after they had taken him away, swiping blood everywhere. How it got under her fingernails and stained her fingertips.

She nodded, and Jim twined his fingers into hers.

“He was okay,” Jim reminded her. “We thought the worst had happened, and it turned out okay.” She didn’t bring up all the times that they thought the worst had happened and it _had._ All the times that things did not turn out okay. “This will all turn out okay too. He’ll be okay.”

  
She nodded, but couldn’t help thinking, _but what if he’s not_?


	4. And guessing second times

“Mrs. McAvoy?” Mac’s head shot up at the sound of her name, and she was on her feet instantly, Sloan and Charlie standing next to her, Sloan’s steadying hand at her elbow.

_Please be okay, he has to be okay, he has to be okay, please be okay_.

It was the only thing she could think of, her hands trembling, and her heart beating painfully hard against her ribs.

"He made it through surgery and we’ve moved him to the ICU,” the doctor started with, and Mac felt relief so strong that her legs sagged. Charlie clapped a hand on her back, and Don let out a whoosh of air, doubling over and placing his hands on his knees.

“He’s okay?” Mac asked, and she didn’t even care about the details.

Charlie was listening, nodding along as the doctor talked about reinflating lungs, and repairing damage to his aorta. She heard the words, but wasn’t absorbing any of the information.

He was okay. As long as he was okay, she could deal with everything else (she wasn’t naive enough to think that there wouldn’t be some serious recovery time. He had been shot in the goddamn _chest_. Some fucking lunatic had shot him in the chest. But thank God, thank _God_ it wasn’t in the head. Thank God she didn’t have to wonder if her husband would have permanent damage. Thank God she didn’t have to sit and worry that even if he came back to her, he’d never come _all the way_ back to her.These were the things that she held onto in those endless hours between when he fell to his knees outside of the AWM building and right now. It could have been worse. It could have been so much worse.)

“Oh thank God,” Sloan breathed out, her grip tightening on Mac’s arm.

“When can I see him?” Mac asked immediately. She needed to see him right away. She needed to see that he was okay for herself, that his chest was still moving up and down, that he was still here, with her, that some idiot with a gun hadn’t taken him from her forever (how would she have survived that? How would she have continued to get out of bed every day? The grief would have pulled her under, drowned her, made it impossible for her to keep going. She had survived their separation the first time, but not without some damage. And at least she could turn on the television, hear his voice, see his face. The thought of not being able to do even that was unbearable).

“As soon as we have him settled, I’ll have someone come get you.”

Jim thanked the doctor for her, placing a hand on the small of her back.

"He's _okay_ , Mac," Sloan breathed out, tugging Mac into her arms and into a fierce hug. (It was almost too much. It was all almost too much for Mac. She felt as fragile as glass, felt almost as if she was handled too much, she would break.)

Mac didn't trust herself to speak, so she just nodded instead, allowing Sloan to pass her to Charlie, and then Jim. She buried her head in Jim's chest, clutching his shirt in her fingers and wishing more than anything that it was Will holding her at that moment.

* * *

Maggie had been working on a story when Will and Mac had come by, their hips bumping against each other, Will's arm anchoring Mac to his side.

"You're getting out of here soon, right?" Mac asked as they slowed near her desk.

"Oh, oh yeah," Maggie nodded. "There's just a couple of things I need to do and then Jim and I are going to grab a late dinner."

"Good, a healthy work/life balance is important," Will said, and Mac snorted. He looked over at her, mock offended. "What?"

"Says the man who crawled into bed last night at 2 am," she poked him in the side.

"And you would know, because you were here with me," he shot back.

"I've never claimed to have mastered the art of having a life outside of work. Hence, my marrying a man I work with."

"For," Will shot her a cheeky grin. "You work for me."

"Watch it," Mac said, but she mirrored his grin. "Regardless," she said turning back to Maggie. "Don't stay here too long."

"I won't," Maggie promised. "Have a good night." Will waved a hand over his head as he lead Mac away.

"You too," he called, and Maggie watched as he dipped his head close to Mac's, saying something that made her smack his arm and shake her head before reaching up and stealing a quick kiss.

Maggie turned back to the work at hand, and then was interrupted a second time when Jim came rushing past her desk.

"Did Will and Mac leave? I needed to run something by her," he said.

"You just missed them, but if you hurry you can probably catch them before they go," Maggie suggested, and Jim tapped his knuckles on the desk, shot her a smile, and raced towards the bank of elevators.

A few minutes passed before her phone rang and she smiled to herself when she saw Jim's name.

"I'm almost finished," she told him. "Did you manage to catch them? I can just meet you downstairs if you're still in the lobby."

"Maggie," something was wrong. Jim's voice was all wrong. A chill ran down her spine.

"What? What's happened?"

"It's Will. It's...someone shot him. Someone shot Will."

" _What_?"

"Some...someone shot Will." Maggie could hear the fear and frustration in Jim's voice.

"Is he okay?" There were a lot of places someone could be shot, she reasoned. In the arm or the leg wouldn't be so bad. Scary, sure, but not life threatening.

"I don't know," Jim said helplessly. "They took him...Charlie called 911. It happened so fast."

"Is Mac okay?" Maggie asked.

"She's in shock," Jim replied. "But she's not...physically hurt."

"I'm coming, okay? I'm coming right now." Maggie hung up and grabbed her coat, and Neal's head shot up, and a concerned look crossed his face.

"What's going on?" He asked.

"It's Will, someone shot Will," Maggie couldn't believe she was saying those words.

"I’m coming, too," Neal insisted, jumping to his feet and following her to the elevator without asking any other questions. “Is he okay?” She appreciated that he waited until they were on the move to grill her for information. She didn’t want to waste any time.

“I don’t know,” Maggie echoed Jim’s frustration.

She punched the down button and rocked back on her heels. Sloan and Don came running up, twin looks of panic on their faces.

Maggie hadn’t prayed in a long time. Growing up, her parents insisted they go to church every Sunday (mostly for show, she always secretly thought. Because it was what they were _supposed_ to do, not because of any deep belief system), but Maggie had been on the fence for some time, and when Daniel died she stopped pretending.

But as they all piled into the elevator, descending down towards where some stranger, some _lunatic_ with a gun and a grudge, had shot Will, Maggie found herself closing her eyes, reaching back into the depths of her memory for the right words, and praying.

_Please let him be okay. Please let him live. Please not Will_.

* * *

"Hi," Mac said softly, taking her husband's limp hand and settling down into the chair next him. "They said that I should talk to you." She brought his hand to her lips and pressed a trembling kiss to each finger, closing her eyes before wrapping both hands tightly around his.

"Everyone's here, Billy. They're all waiting for you to open those blue eyes." Mac let out a shaky breath.

They told her he would be sedated for a while. She should go home and get some sleep, and she understood that she should, on a rational level she got that. She wasn't any good to him right now, she was just exhausting herself for no logical reason. She'd be better off getting rest while she could so that when he woke up, and she was assured he would, she would have her wits about her.

"He's going to need you when he wakes up," Charlie had pointed out, trying in vain to get her to see reason. "We'll take turns with him while you get some sleep. Just during the hours we know he'll be out. Yours will be the first face he sees when he wakes up. Yours is the only face he'll want to see."

Mac felt like she was being handled, and she hated being handled. But she understood that they all were desperate to feel useful, in control of an uncontrollable situation, and she was an outlet for them all to channel their worry through. They could help Mac get through this, since there was nothing they could do to help Will at the moment, and to do nothing was unbearable.

She knew that Charlie was right, and now that she saw Will for herself, saw his chest move up and down, she could acknowledge that she was bone tired. Exhaustion was making everything fuzzy, and soft around the edges.

"I'm going to go back to the apartment," Mac told Will's still form. "I'm going to get some sleep. I know you'd insist on that if you were awake, and you're right, okay? You're right. So Charlie's going to come back here and sit, and Sloan's going to take me home." Mac hadn't asked Sloan yet, but she was sure the answer was yes. She was sure no one in that waiting room would deny her anything at the moment, and just the idea alone of going to back to their empty apartment by herself was just something she couldn't handle.

Mac leaned in and brushed a kiss across his forehead. "I love you, so much, honey," she whispered. "And you're going to be fine. You're going to be just fine."


	5. Tell me that you are mine

The first thing that Will registered was the warm hand in his, and the second thing was that it fucking hurt.

_Goddamn_.

It hurt.

And then it all came rushing back to him at once as he blinked open his eyes.

He had been fucking _shot_ , and there had been a part of him, a very big part of him, that had thought he was going to die on the cold cement outside of the AWM building. That he was going to die with Mac’s stricken face floating above his, her tears dripping down her nose onto his face (there would be worse ways to go than to die in MacKenzie’s arms; if he had to choose, her face would be the last sight on earth that he would want to see, but his heart broke for her. She had just looked so _sad_ , and he hated to see that look on her face).

But he was still alive, still here, and he moved his head slightly to see Mac slumped in the chair next to his bed, her hand in his. He could see the worry in her face even as she slept fitfully, and he thought about waking her up (he just wanted to help erase some of those furrowed lines, help relieve some of her concern), but he suspected she hadn’t slept since he bled all over the damn sidewalk, and plus it just hurt and he was so fucking tired, so instead he closed his eyes and let himself drift away again.

The second time he woke, MacKenzie was awake too, and she bit back a sob and reached a shaky hand to brush the hair off of his forehead.

“Hi,” she said softly.

"Hi,” he echoed, and this time she didn’t hold back the sobs, dropping her head onto his bed, her shoulders heaving as she wept. Despite the fact that it depleted all of his energy, Will moved his hand to bury in her hair. “Hey, hey, sweetheart, I’m okay, please don’t cry.” It didn't surprise him when she doesn’t listen (when did she ever?), and he shut up, his mouth pressed into a thin line, and let her cry it out.

When she finally lifted her head, swiping at the tears on her cheeks, she leaned forward and pressed a fierce kiss to his lips.

“Don’t ever fucking do that to me again,” she told him, her voice firm. “I mean it Will. Don’t _ever_ fucking do that again. Do you know how terrified I was? Do you have any idea?” She kissed him again, her lips lingering on his, before resting her forehead against his.

He doesn’t reply. He can’t imagine it, actually, doesn’t _want_ to imagine it. Doesn’t even want to think about if the situation had been reversed, if he had been holding her in his arms as her blood spilled onto the pavement. It was unbearable, and Mac had had to bear it.

“I’m sorry,” he replied, his voice soft, and Mac’s eyes closed for a moment.

“Forgiven,” she said, and kissed his forehead before leaning back, her eyes shining, but a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. His eyes felt heavy, but he wasn’t ready to go back to sleep just yet. He wanted a moment to drink in the sight of her smile, the warmth of her hand tangled in his. Mac’s eyes softened.

"Sleep,” she murmured, brushing a kiss against his cheek. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

* * *

Charlie had been surprised when the elevator doors slid open and Will and Mac stepped inside.

They hardly ever left at the same time as him, and he wasn’t sure if he was leaving earlier than normal or they were.

Despite both of them having suddenly far more fulfilling personal lives, their workaholic tendencies still kept the two of them at the office for much longer than Charlie would argue they needed to be. The difference was that now there were looks that lingered over the staff’s heads during rundowns, there were soft touches as they passed by one another, fingers dancing across backs and down arms. They weren’t overly effusive, Mac had set pretty strict workplace guidelines, and neither was prone to public displays of affection anyway, but there were small changes, and Charlie knew that no one minded those small changes.

Charlie was heading out early to meet Sophie for a late dinner (early for him), and both Will and Mac looked slightly surprised to see him too.

“Heading home?” Charlie asked.

“Yes,” Mac replied. “And despite the fact that we still don’t have living room furniture, I’m very happy to be heading there.” Will rolled his eyes, and Charlie grinned. He had had a front row seat to the drama that has been the McAvoy renovation, and Will’s frustration and Mac’s indecision had been a source of great amusement for him.

“And whose fault is it that we don’t have furniture?” Will shot back.

“Are you saying it’s mine?” Mac turned to face her husband, an indignant look on her face.

“I’m saying it’s taking you longer to pick a living room couch than it did for the Chinese to build the Great Wall,” Will smirked. Charlie chuckled as the doors opened to the lobby where Lonny was waiting for them.

Will had surprised Charlie by taking the threats seriously this time, taking security seriously this time. Although Charlie knew that it wasn’t for his own sake that Will was worried, it was for MacKenzie’s.

“Mac!” Jim’s voice stopped them as they made their way through the lobby. “Hey, before you go, you got a minute?” He pulled Mac to the side, showing her something on his phone which made her frown and nod.

“I have to go,” Charlie said to Will. “Sophie’s waiting for me. Tell Mac goodnight for me.”

"Will do,” Will replied, and Charlie moved toward the door. He was a half of a block down the street when the unmistakable sound of gunfire split the night, and his instincts were to hit the ground. He turned around to see Will jerk and then drop to his knees, MacKenzie scrambling towards her husband.

“Jesus,” Charlie breathed. “ _Jesus_.” No. _No_.

He didn’t even realize he had started moving towards them again, and then he was running as fast as he could, as fast his body would allow.

_No. No. No_.

* * *

It had taken a considerable amount of persuading from all parties to get Mac to agree to go home and get something to eat and get some sleep in an actual bed.

Will could tell the moment he had her, and she finally caved, her exhaustion besting her as she agreed.

“I’ll be back in no more than three hours,” she repeated a few times.

“I’m sure that’s true,” Will said. “But you should take more than that.”

“No,” Mac wouldn’t be budged on the issue, and Will was just grateful that they had convinced her to go home in the first place and wasn’t willing to push it.

“And if you need anything, _anything_ , call me. Okay?” Sloan placed a guiding hand on Mac’s back and gently pushed her toward the door.

"Get some rest, sweetheart,” Will instructed.

“Three hours,” Mac reminded him as Sloan finally managed to get her out the door.

Mac hated to leave, but she was a type of bone deep tired she had only been a few other times in her life. It had been two days since Will had woken up, and she had spent both nights curled up in the chair next to his bed. Will had first tried to convince her to go home, and when that failed to work, he had tried to convince her to share his bed, but she had been horrified at the prospect of accidentally hurting him, and had vehemently objected to that suggestion. Sleeping in a chair, even one that reclined, did not make for a good night’s sleep.

Mac fell asleep in the car ride back to her apartment, Sloan gently nudging her awake when they pulled in front of her building. She chose her bed over food, dragging her weary body down the hall and burrowed under the covers, asleep within seconds.

When she woke up a couple of hours later, it took her a couple of moments to remember where she was and what had happened. The bed was too big, too empty, too cold without Will’s body to take up half the space.

After a quick shower, Mac wandered back down the hall to find Sloan.

“Are you guys ever going to finish this place? It’s been months,” Sloan said by way of greeting when she spotted MacKenzie shuffling in.

“It’s getting there,” Mac huffed. “We’re just missing some furniture.”

“Some furniture?” Sloan raised an eyebrow.

“Most furniture,” Mac corrected. The walls were finished though, the kitchen and the bathroom. It was a work in progress, and the breath was sucked out of Mac for a moment when she thought about having to come back here without Will (she just wouldn’t have. She wouldn’t. She would have hired movers to pack up her belongings and she wouldn’t have ever set foot in this apartment. Not the place where she and Will were building a home together). She faltered and Sloan frowned.

"You okay?” Sloan asked.

“Fine,” Mac nodded. “I’m fine.” Sloan looked like she didn’t quite believe her, but she didn’t press.

“I made soup,” Sloan offered. “You should eat before we go back.”

“You made soup?” Mac was surprised.

“Fine. I bought soup,” Sloan amended. “Either way there’s soup, and Will’s going to be pissed as hell if you come back there without having eaten anything.”

“I’m not afraid of him,” Mac replied, but she moved towards the kitchen regardless. “He’s all bark and no bite.” She dished out some of the soup into a bowl and settled down at the table (one of the few pieces of furniture they actually agreed upon almost immediately). “As soon as I’m finished, I’m heading back.” Her tone was one that Sloan recognized as her "Executive Producer" voice. Maggie had once called it her "bad ass bitch" voice, which had been said in the most loving way possible. It was impossible to argue with Mac when she adopted that tone, and Sloan wasn't even going to bother wasting the energy to try.

"Okay," Sloan said easily.

"Have you checked in with Charlie lately?" Mac asked, her fingertips reaching for her phone. "I should call and check in."

"I did," Sloan reassured. "Charlie said Will was sleeping and he'd call if anything at all happened." Mac nodded, biting her lip and looking a little lost.

Sloan had been impressed with how well Mac had held herself together (although she shouldn't have been. This was Mac, after all, she had been through things that Sloan couldn't possibly begin to wrap her head around). Sloan was sure behind private doors, Mac had fallen apart (as much as she would let herself), but in front of the staff she had been the picture of strength, optism, and resilence.

As worried as Sloan had been about Mac, she hadn't needed to be. As soon as Will had woken up, Mac had brightened, assuring everyone that everything was going to be just fine.

"I should still call," Mac murmured.

"He's okay, Charlie would have called if anything had happened," Sloan's voice softened. Mac took a deep breath, and nodded.

"Right, so let's get back there then," Mac said, climbing to her feet and straightening her shoulders.

"You okay?" Sloan asked for the second time. Mac seemed unbalanced, like being in the apartment without Will had tipped her over some line.

"Fine," Mac dismissed. "Just anxious to get back."

"Mac," Sloan tried again. Mac let out a shaky breath, shaking her head. 

"What if he hadn't been okay? What if I had...what if he had..." Mac's hand flew up to her mouth and she choked back a sob.

"Oh, sweetie," Sloan stood and knelt in front of Mac's chair, brushing the hair off her face. "He's going to be okay."

"I know, I know that," Mac bobbed her head, her breath coming in short bursts. "But what if it happens again? What if..." Sloan pulled Mac to her, wrapping her arms around her tightly.

She didn't have an answer, so she kept her mouth drawn in a tight line, and just held onto Mac as she wept, knowing full well that she was not the person MacKenzie wanted to be holding her.


End file.
